


got a long list of ex-lovers

by bryndentully



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:37:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryndentully/pseuds/bryndentully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four guys who kiss Nancy, and the one she kisses first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ned

**Author's Note:**

> I ship Nancy with too many people. (◕‿◕✿) This fic contains vague spoilers for TMB, DED, MED, and LIE.

1\. _Ned Nickerson_

"Now what?" Ned asks.

With the storm raging outside, the six of you exhaust the board games in Bess’s basement, get tired of surfing television channels, and agree upon a disinclination to rejoin the party upstairs, where all the adults (including your father) reside. The boys—Ned Nickerson, Dave Evans, and Burt Eddleton, invitees from Mapleton—suggested hide and seek, although after further inspection, you and the rest of them realize that the cellar isn’t quite big enough. You’re busy pondering what sort of game can involve everyone equally _and_ keep your attention, but Bess beats you to it.

"Let’s play Spin the Bottle!" Bess squeals, earning your smile and George’s fond but exasperated sigh. The boys politely murmur their agreement, allowing Bess to scamper off in search of an empty bottle. You’re indebted to Bess for her enthusiasm; this party is the first one you would attend since the three Drews became two. You fuss with the hem of your horse shirt, absentmindedly, Ned’s knee touching yours while you wait for Bess to come back (you initially wonder if he notices, but his neck is reddening, making things very clear).

"Got it," says Bess, triumphantly placing the bottle in the middle of the circle. When no one moves, Bess opts to spin first, features laden with anticipation. The neck rotates like a propeller a few times, spinning and spinning until it at last points to Dave. Giving Bess the goofiest smile you’ve _ever_ seen, Dave puckers his lips at Bess, making George snort with laughter. Bess kisses Dave, Burt kisses George, and when it’s Ned’s turn to spin the bottle, it lands on you.

 _Oh_ , you think.

“Ooh,” George teases. Bess elbows her in the ribs, making a shushing noise.

Ned’s sitting next to you, at least, saving you both the discomfort of meeting in the middle and knocking into each other’s teeth like Burt and George. He seems more nervous than you do, so you smile at him, trying to reassure. A few seconds later, Ned presses his lips to yours, the touch very gentle, reminding you instantly of butterfly kisses. Once for the game, and again, in private, when the party is breaking up and you’re saying your goodbyes. He squeezes your hand, gives you an even goofier smile (!) than Dave gave Bess, and runs off to where his parents are waiting, promising to call soon. Your cheeks flush as you practically skip back to the girls. You're smiling more than you have in _months_ , and you think you'll finally be okay.

That distinctive Nickerson charisma won’t appear overnight, but for now, Ned’s charmed you (bashfulness, affection, and cute smile in all).


	2. Dylan

2\. _Dylan Carter_

While Lily’s pretending to do work and Abdullah is basking in the glory of his achievements, you’re getting something done. Now that the jade cat is assembled, you’ve been exploring the tomb, armed with your books and ready to get cracking on these hieroglyphics. (Really, somebody’s gonna start calling you Nancy “Rosetta Stone” Drew any day now.) You’re so busy studying a row of figures that it takes you a minute to notice someone has joined you.

"Nothing like the smell of hieroglyphics in the morning," Dylan remarks, approaching.

You ignore this. Undeterred, Dylan points at a scarab image.

"Ever seen one of these in real life? Nasty things."

"No," you deign to answer, reluctant to make small talk when you know something’s going on with him. And Jamila. And Lily, and Abdullah. They all have secrets, things Jon wants you to figure out, and _quickly_. Dylan, you're reluctant to admit, even to yourself, is making the investigation surrounding him...difficult. “I did see someone sabotaged the water supply, though. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“‘Course not,” Dylan protests. You shrug.

"Just checking."

"Checking on everyone, aren’t you?" 

That surprises you. You aren’t exactly subtle, and your foot practically lives in your mouth during interrogations, but it usually takes time for people to notice you being…sleuthy.

"Only the suspicious ones," you concede, setting down your tools to write down images to translate. Dylan looks disappointed.

"I haven’t done anything suspicious."

"Offering to jet set around the world with someone you just met is a little suspicious. It makes me wonder what you’re trying to distract me from."

“I distract you?” Dylan asks without missing a beat, all innocence.

You stop writing, flustered and annoyed. (He’s moderately cute, you admitted to Bess, although _extremely_ might’ve been better.)

"That’s not what I said," you finally tell him, but Dylan’s grinning. _Grinning_! You scowl, flipping through your book. Just like before, Dylan moves quickly and quietly, and by the time you look up, you’re nearly nose to nose. He balances one hand on either side of your head, making himself the only thing in your line of sight. Of course. 

"I meant it, you know," Dylan tells you. Any closer and you're sure that stubble will scratch your jaw. You conceal a shiver. Barely. "We should go somewhere, just you and me. Like this new dig in Spain," he continues, smiling like a cat who's caught the canary. You don’t even think of pushing him away. Everything's just…frozen over. In the _desert_. "Right up your alley."

He shifts away and drops a kiss on your cheek, the contact as biting as an icy breeze. When you think back on this case, that touch will stand out.

(Less so than the cave in, or Nefertari, but weighty, in its own way.)

"Sleep on it, yeah?"

With a wink, Dylan wanders off. Breathing a sigh of relief, you return your attention to the remnants of a lost queen. Much safer territory.


	3. Frank

3\. _Frank Hardy_

 _Boom_! You jerk awake from a nightmare, breath wedged in your throat and your heart racing.

"…reached our destination. Thank you for flying with us," the pilot announces, giving you some focus. A starting point. Oh, right. You're out of Colorado, finally. To your relief, the police sent you off as quickly as they could after the storm, now that Niko's killer is behind bars. You left your contact info with Ryan, but if you're being honest with yourself, you aren't exactly hankering to go back to that lab anytime soon.

Following the queue of passengers to baggage claim, you wait for your stuff, regarding everyone and everything around you in a blank, unseeing sort of way. This isn't your first brush with death, with a culprit more concerned with shutting you up than getting away safely, but the shock of it stays with you. No Faraday cage will protect me from that, you think, rather wry. 

You wonder if anyone in this line of work feels that shock. If you call this work, you think, more deprecatingly than you'd normally allow.

Speaking of others in this line of work…

"Nancy!"

You turn from your luggage surveying as if electrocuted, still jittery and off balance from the case. "Frank," you greet when you locate the caller, surprised, only for the realization to dawn on you just as he jogs over to hug you—shoot! You forgot to check back in with the Hardys! "Sorry," you groan into his shoulder, resting your weight against him. His arms tighten around you, soothingly. "Forgot to call."

"I figured," you hear and feel Frank say, the words reverberating between the two of you like a metronome. His chin rests the top of your head when you hug him a little closer, appreciating…this. It's not unusual for you to feel jumpy, alert, like something's still off, like something still needs to be uncovered. Like the pilot's voice, Frank's giving you a much needed anchoring. You even forget about your bag, along with the airpot, and everybody in it. No clues, no secrets, no case. For now, it's you and Frank, hugging like the world's about to end. (Yours almost did.)

If Frank presses the lightest of kisses on the top of your head, neither of you says anything. If Frank wants to discuss the case, or something else, he doesn't breathe a word. If either of you want to talk about why he's here, alone, no hint of reasoning is exchanged. You kind of like it—for once, not chasing a lead.

(Just this once.) 

"Come on," Frank murmurs, nodding to the baggage claim. "I'll drive you home."

You don't get Joe's messages. You get a new phone and you don't remember that kiss until Greece, and by then, you, Frank, and Joe are a little more concerned with kidnapping Ned from Emerson.

(You'll bring it up, someday. Frank Hardy's always had a bit of mystery to him. One of these days, you just might solve it.)


	4. Sonny

4\. _Sonny Joon_

Winning Pacific Run is a little…surreal. And to be perfectly honest, it’s not the first thing on your mind. _Sonny Joon_ is the first thing your mind.

Unmasking him after what seems like years should be fun. A relief. The rabbit you’ve chased to Wonderland and back, purple hair and alien doodles and Annunaki in all—you’ve _finally_ caught up to him. You’ve unraveled him so far that you know his entire name. You know all about his grandfather, about his childhood, about S.P.I.E.D, about his connection to Jamila, and why his interning and globetrotting seemed so strangely like a trail of breadcrumbs, or cliffhangers at the ends of really good books. And now it's all over. The case is closed.

But...

It isn’t fun. Sonny's leaving, this time without a destination or indication of seeing you again anytime soon. No more little clues, no more of this particular mystery, no more of the elusive, frequently fired oddity who's developed into a friend of yours so quickly, you're startled about how much actually going to miss him.

"You really have no idea where you’re going next?" You ask, watching Sonny pack. You suspect the producers really do want to run him out of town.

He shakes his head, still wearing the awestruck look of earlier today, when his grandfather's fantastical stories became a reality. 

"That's the exciting part," Sonny decides, air of intrigue replaced with content. It looks good on him, you conclude.

The next word is out of your mouth before you can stop it. "Sonny?" You question, getting ahead of yourself but reclaiming Sonny's attention again.

"Yeah?"

You hesitate. What you want isn't out of the realm of possibility, but you do wonder...

You look at him for a minute, memorizing that purple hair and bright eyes. (Bess may have taken a shining to Sonny during the competition, but he was _your_ mystery first.)

"Write me, would ya?"

Sonny laughs. He strides over to where you're perched on a suitcase and bends down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Totally can do, Nancy Drew," Sonny declares, eyes twinkling.

(Four months later, you get a postcard. ” _Iceland_?” You squawk, scaring the living daylights out of Hannah.)


	5. Alec

+1. _Alec Fell_

When someone new shows up in River Heights, everyone knows about it. That quickly includes you.

Bess gets right into the story as soon as you arrive at Pizza Palace.

"He has an _accent_ , Nancy. You _know_ how I feel about accents."

"Of course I do," you joke. George laughs.

"Anyway," Bess continues, sighing, "I said hello and he said hello and we got to chitchatting and then…" Bess gives you an expectant look, motioning for you to ask her to elaborate. (One of the perks about being home, you think with a fond smile—Bess's theatrics.)

"And then?" You prompt, obeying.

"And the mystery guy asked for you!" Bess finishes, as if you knew this already. George raises an eyebrow, features skeptical.

"Does Nancy get a name, Bess? I think you're skimping on the details."

"I do not _skimp_ , George. Ever. Do you even know me at all?"

You interrupt what will dependably become an argument between the cousins, curiosity getting the best of you. "What's his name?"

Making an I'm-watching-you gesture at George, Bess looks to you again. "I didn't get a name. Just something about skipping. Or tracing. His accent's cute but kinda garbley…" Your eyes widen. You're out of your seat before you've registered what you're doing. Alec. Alec Fell. Alec's here? Why? You don't know why, but you're going to find out, and fast.

"I'll be right back," you say, heading for the door.

"He's going to your house!" Bess calls after you.

*

You're expecting him as of a few minutes ago, but the sight of Alec is still a shock.

He's sitting on the steps outside your front door, looking extraordinarily out of place against the safe, suburban street and cheerfully painted houses. He has _something_ to say to you, clearly, but somewhere between catching up with him and hugging him doesn't translate properly, and before you know it, you've all but dragged him by the vest into a kiss.

Alec makes an endearing but unattractive noise of surprise before he kisses you back, both of his hands falling to rest on your waist, where they then stay. Again, to your surprise, Alec is the first to draw away, giving you that earnest look you got so accustomed to seeing directed at you back in Scotland.

"Hello to you too," Alec remarks, smiling all the way to his ears. It suits him.

"Hello," you say. You just can't stop _smiling_. He's okay. He's here—all this way to visit you. He hasn't gotten hurt. A bit of worry leaves you, then—one you hadn't noticed pursuing on the return trip across the Atlantic. You make friends fast (Alec falling into a gray area, you need to admit) and the thought of people you care about being in as much danger as _you_ get into is disconcerting.

"Beats our first introduction, I think," Alec says, making a show of thinking it over.

You grin. Working with Catherdal hasn't robbed Alec of his sense of humor. Though, you suppose, it was about the same with your mother and Moira. They _had_ to hold onto the funny stuff, or the work of a spy would just get overwhelming. You relax further, knowing Alec has dodged what Mom couldn't.

"So, Mr. Skiptracer," you declare, earning Alec's sardonic look, "what do you say to getting something to eat? We don't have any haggis, here, but we _do_ have some great pizza."

As it happens, Alec likes pizza. ("That's a relief," you quip. "I don't need to dig out my laser pointer." At that, Alec just laughs.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really happy with my characterizations or general style of these drabbles, but I hope the fic made somebody smile.


End file.
